Hidden
by iminyourimagination
Summary: Based on the film: after Lizzie and Darcy's row in the rain. A lost little moment with hidden messages between them both. please forgive my awful writing skills. that era of literacy is not my best :\ not really sure how to rate it but there's nothing in here that's...frowned upon. promise!


Argument.

Darcy leaned in, his fringe dripping onto his face and eyes full of regret, sorrow and something else...

'...Please...' he whispered and looked as though he was about to cry, but her rock solid face did not reflect half the sentiment he had hoped for. He was so close now; if only Elizabeth had the courage to enquire why she should forgive him or even just listen to his explanation: then, just maybe, she could find it in herself to make it seen that she had enough civility to respect his wishes and listen close so that he could be heard out.

She looked deep into his eyes as hers softened (were they, perhaps, begging for forgiveness as much as he had done just then?) If she shut them completely, would he kiss her? What would she do? Yell, scream, shout? Or accept it that he wished to do so and comply, and that would be all...although the aftermath would completely change their relationship: awkwardness of the extreme. She would run from him, for certain.

No, she would keep her eyes firmly open. It was hard though, since he leant in a little closer, his eyes focused on her mouth. For someone so irritatingly concieted, he was ridiculously hard to resist; his face was one most women would envy her for gazing upon, even with such coldness as she did so profusely.

She stared, stubborn and taciturn, waiting for him to move: whatever direction, she did not care, but the proximity at which they stood was so tantalising, they may as well embrace. The pause was agony, but eventually, he withdrew. For some reason, she felt ashamed, and quite disappointed.

'forgive me, madam, for taking up so much of your time.'

And with that, Fitzwilliam Darcy tormed off in such an attitude worthy of a small child who had just been refused a piece of toffee. Elizabeth, however, remained, flat against the wall until she was sure he had left the monument. She sighed and felt the unfamiliar sensation of tears in her throat, the tingling in her nose and finally the welling up of her eyes. She blinked furiously, but ended up scrunching her eyes tight so that the rain would do the rest of the work in covering up the tears steadily rolling down her rosy cheeks.

Darcy stopped his hurrying in order to think, which he rarely had the time to do when Miss Elizabeth was present. He saw a tree stump next to an indent in the path, just on the outskirt of the wood. He went to sit and contemplate on what had just happened. The rain smothered his already soaked figure.

Firstly, he remembered how she looked in the rain: her apparel was certainly dishevelled, but not completely so that it was improper or offputting, but made for a rather attractive cause. Her dress clung tightly to her front, which she was obviosuly uncomfortable with and remained stiff. Her face was pink and flustered, her eyes penetrating anf dark with what he understood to be anger, shame and alarm. She read so many books that it was far too easy for her to be read like one.

Little strands of her hair was plastered to the sides of her face and her forhead, while other bit hung dorn in front of her face and her jacket was coated in muck and water. It made her sound unclean and dirty but in fact, it made her rather more appealing than he had ever seen her, much to equal her appearance at The Netherfield ball.

He then began to recall her spiteful, cruel, sharp words whih still stung him, leaving invisible burns of the words HATE and PRIDE carved into his skin. He soon understood that she disliked him from her words, but to be the last man she would marry was the most painful thing. She would rather marry that foul Collins fellow instead of having to deal with himself...

He covered his face with his hands and slowly wiped away the water that had been dripping slowly and rolling down his jaw to his chin. Looking up, he saw the heavy droplets come pelting down from the grey, thunderous sky. Oh how he wished he had never got himself into this mess and had waited until he was sure that she would say yes: instead, now, she never would, because of what had just happened.

He closed his eyes, his face still pointed towards the sky I hopes of the rain somehow refreshing him, relieving him of his worries, though he knew deep down inside that he was only being reminded of Elizabeth with every droplet. The sensation of it falling on his face was quite extraordinary, but at the same time, very soothing. If only he could fall asleep to the feeling...

There was a crunch from only a few metres ahead of him, coming from the direction he had only recently just frequented. It made him jolt upright, open his eyes and search for who it was, and to his secret delight, it was non other than Miss Bennet herself, though at first quite hard to spot since the earthy colours she was dressed in disguised her figure very well against the dark canvas of shrubbery and brown earth, gravel and trees. The only thing that made her stand out was her coloured face, her long, pale neck and elegant hands which clung tightly to her scarf and bonnet. She did not see him immediately, but as he stood (natural instinct to stand as a lady enters a room, though in this case it was due to true astonishment and helplessness) she startled and gasped, standing stock still in her half-stepped position.

They both stared at each other for what felt like minutes, but it was only long enough for him to see her eyes well up and her dart off again in the direction she had just hurried from. Forgetting all formality, he began to stride along to catch up with her, but she was sprinting. His striding would barely help. Instead, he began to run.

When she eventually stopped, she tried to find a substantial location other than round the other side of the stone monument to hide, but was unsuccessful as she turned to see his soaked figure nearing him. He had arrived uncommonly fast, and she hated to admit it, but she found him extemely attractive in the state he was in now, and she loathed not only him but herself for it. She turned her back so as she could recollect herself and maintain her stoney gaze once more.

'Why, _good sir_, did you feel the need to follow me once again? Surely once is enough to prove that you are capable of startling me by doing so, and I hope you have a more reasonable explanation as to why you have decided to _bless me with your presence _once again.' She hissed, still not sure whether to turn back to him, so instead she looked out at the countryside as to assume a new and more challenging point of focus.

'Miss Elizabeth,' he started, his breath short with exaustion and desperation 'I cincerely apologise-'

'good-'

'-for my reappearance but I must let you know that you have been decieved -most worryingly-And believe me, so have I but not in such a manner as you have.'

'Why then, if you are so worried by this, have you taken this amount of time to explain this to me, Mr. Darcy?' she turned full on to face him now, though focused on a spot on the wall just left of his dazzling blue eyes 'And what on earth could decieve the all-knowing character of a man such as yourself?'

'Please,' he stepped forward, cincere and careful, an air of unbalanced caution hung around him, as though he were scared to tread too heavy on the ground he was standing upon. This gave her and excuse to look down at his feet, and then her own: her boots were caked in mud so much that they barely resembled boots anymore. 'You have to understand that I need more time to think such things through than you yourself do; I am not as aware of my wits as you are, _Miss Bennet_.'

His sudden formality shocked her, but as soon as she looked up to figure out why he had taken that leap, did she realise that he had done it in favour of getting her attention so much that she would look him in the eye. Elizabeth stared, knowing now that she was trapped in his gaze. '_Damnit, why must I do such silly things? Now I am never to be released from this staring competition.' _ Her thoughts overruled her actions and as he stepped forward again, she did not react quick enough as to step backwards.

'I am dreadfully sorry for the pain I have caused not only you, but your entire family. Miss Jane Bennet cannot begin to imagine the guilt I feel now that I have been proved wrong about her indifference. Please accept this plea of acceptance of my apology. I shall talk to Bingley in hope of ammends... that he would otherwise not induce.'

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows slightly. What was he doing? He had momentarily given her an apology that she thought she would ever recieve. Suddenly, she thought that he was only saying this because it is what she wanted and expected most out of him. If so he was only playing to his own advantage and if he had not given such an offer to help save Bingley and Jane, she would call him selfish.

'Mr. Wickham, on the other hand, is not such an easy case to explain, especially now that you have decided your judgement against me, which I know is far but easy to change or retrieve, but I promise upon my life that you will one day learn the truth.'

She opened her mouth, but then shut it again as she saw that he aimed to continue. He gave her a gesture for her to interject.

'And what if each side is as biased as the other? How will I possibly ever know truth?' she enquired angrily, her expression unchanged.

'Well, no doubt that, over time, you will grow so fond of him that end I am no longer of any importance in concern of him, but I aim to give you my side of this tale before you become too attached to him. This may then give you time to consider both sides before you become biased yourself. I shall let you make your own judgement.' His eyes narrowed as his anger grew.

She had to admit, though secretly, that she admired his persistance, even though he knew she may never trust him. He wanted to get his point across before it was too late.

'And- and...' Lizzie struggled with her words as she looked down at her cold hands 'you vow to do so as soon as possible so that I may be able to give you the most credit I can?'

'Of course.' Mr. Darcy said soothingly and looked down also at her hands. They were practically blue. He sighed and took a smaller step towards her. 'Maybe I shall write.'

'And what if I do not trust you on this matter?' she said, her voice broken and shredded. He wanted her to so much, but instead said quietly 'Then you are far too suspicious of me, though, I doubt you are so changeable that I can earn your trust as easily as Mr. Wickham has.' He took her hands in his warm ones, radiating heat through the icicle fingers of hers. She did not withdraw them, but held on so that she could capture the warmth and softness she had once before. 'you're hands are cold.' He uttered.

Elizabeth nodded.

'You have never trusted me, Miss Elizabeth, and I doubt I can ever change that.'

'Why are you so sure?' she asked patiently, raising her head to look at him once again.

'Because I know you well enough, Miss Elizabeth, to know that you are not easily changed in your manner of opinions. And never will be, to that respect.'

' I am prepared for change though, Sir. Please understand that, right now, I am not sure whether to trust you or not whereas before this day I vowed never to do so. As you can see, I do change my mind, no matter how slowly it may be, so you, Mr. Darcy, may stand a chance.'

They stood, hands brought together by the need of warmth. This was completely lacking in propriety, but neither of them could remember how to act now that they were in such close proximity once again with each other.

'And, in realistic views, how much change are you willing to accept?' Darcy asked tenderly, bracing himself for what his next decided action may be. Elizabeth glanced down at her hands, sandwiched between his to prevent them from freezing.

'Well, of course within reason,' she started.

'Yes, of course,' Darcy said hurriedly.

'Then, I suppose, as much as it takes for you to earn my trust fully, Sir.'

He nodded and kissed the back of her hand lightly and Lizzie felt her whole arm warm suddenly.

'Forgive me, Miss,' he said as he straightened up. lizzie watched him, puzzled, but her confusion was interrupted by his hand cupping her cheek and his face slowly nearing hers, and this time she felt more willing to close her eyes, and did so very slowly.

He kissed her uncertainly, his brilliant eyes fluttering shut and soft lips covering hers with the smallest amount of pressure applied. He frowned slightly as he realised she was stone still under his mouth, but she soon became aware of what was happening. Seen as neither of them had ever done this before, she was still lacking confidence and was not completely sure what she was doing. he then wrapped his arm around her, holding her back as she put her arm around his neck.

Then, it was anger. Furious rage and passion and anger all mixed in with rain and the sweet smell of her hair and hands going wild, running everywhere, bodies pressed tightly together and both sopping wet, soaked to the skin. He felt her smile under his mouth and he felt like he could burst, for making her smile was an achievment, but kissing her at the same time was just too much.

He stopped. He broke away from her, taking all his lust with him. Her eyes were cast down on the floor, nervous and waiting, her lips rose read and swollen with pink cheeks to match. The bun at the back of her head was now half-down, her unruly hair dangled loosely down her back, dripping. 'Why did you do it, sir?' she asked quietly. 'when you know full well that it _highly lacks propriety._' She hissed. Such a hypocritical act had never crossed her before, and the only way she could deal with it was with a snide remark.

'Because propriety does not matter so much to me when I am around you.'

She gave him the most unbelieving look of hatred. How _dare _he say it does not matter when he is in love, and yet it does when it is someone else: Jane. even though it was not performed by her, but her family. '

I am so, so sorry, Madam.' His words rushed out of his mouth in a panic. He let go of her completely, bowed and ran off, crying silently.

Though stunned, she somehow managed to find the means of thinking, and then realised the point he had actually made by his sudden action: _she gave him hope in his love for her and cut him off coldly, which is what he just did to her then._

And with that, her tears began to shed once more.


End file.
